


Fear of Flight

by Scotland_Axel (orphan_account)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Airports, Fear of Flying, First Meetings, Flirting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 17:16:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14289585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Scotland_Axel
Summary: Steve's deathly afraid of flying, mostly because of nightmares he's always had as a child. But even he has to admit driving from New York to D.C. is ridiculous. Luckily for him a kind stranger is more than willing to help him get through it, and he goes by the name Sam Wilson.





	Fear of Flight

**Author's Note:**

> I switch between Sam and Steve's POVs with a horizontal line in between to separate. If that isn't clear enough tell me, and I'll add their names below the line as well.

Steve doesn't like the idea of flying, and not because he has a fear of heights either. Ever since he could remember, his childhood was plagued with nightmares of him crashing a plane into the Atlantic, never to be seen or heard of again, forgotten in every sense of the word. He honestly believes in a past life he must have died exactly like that, and yet here he is in _this_ life about to willingly board a plane for the first time.

Steve's breath rattles as he stands outside the ropes that lead into the checkpoint, and he jumps when a hand lands on his shoulder. He turns and the guy pulls his hand back quickly.

“Sorry, you weren't hearing me. Are you okay, man? Don't take this the wrong way, but you look like you're about to shit your pants.” He says.

Steve sighs, his cheeks burning red for more reasons than one. He doesn't know the right way to take being told you look like you're about to shit your pants, especially when it's coming from a stranger. And unfortunately, he’s not freaking out too much to miss how cute this stranger is either. And he is, his skin is a healthy, glowing brown, black hair shaved almost to the scalp, a neat goatee framing full lips, and arms that would make anyone-

“Hey, you good?” The guy asks, waving a hand in front of Steve's face. Steve looks back up at him, surprised when he sees the man’s eyes actually look concerned.

Steve swallows and tries to wave away the stranger’s concern, “Uh, yeah, I’m fine, thanks.”

The man makes a face, easily seeing through Steve’s lie, and asks, “Is this your first time flying? You ever been through a checkpoint before?”

Steve sighs heavily, “Yes, and no, I haven’t. I’ve always been scared of planes, avoided them at every cost, but even I think driving across the country to D.C. is ridiculous.”

The man snorts and says, “Outside of an indie coming-of-age film, yeah.”

Steve surprises them both when he actually laughs and the man smiles before sticking out his hand, “Sam Wilson, at your service. Lucky for you I’m more comfortable in the air than on the ground. I’ll help you get through your first flight no problem.”

“Sam, that’s very nice, but you don't have to. I don't want to burden anyone.” Steve says, frowning.

Sam smirks at him knowingly and replies, “Suffer in silence type, huh? Sorry to cramp your style then, but helping you wouldn’t be a burden. I like helping.”

“Fine.” Steve huffs.

* * *

Sam tips his head toward the ropes leading to the checkpoint, and the blonde follows him willingly but with a scowl on his face. It’d probably be more menacing if Sam didn't think it was cute. He walks up to the long metal table and toes off his shoes, putting them in their own plastic bin, looking over to see the guy doing the same.

“So do you want me to keep referring to you as ‘the blonde’ in my head or will you tell me your name?” Sam asks, smiling when the question blushes the man’s cheeks.

He looks up shyly from under envious lashes and says, “Do you have a thing for blondes, Sam? Is that why you like helping?”

Sam scoffs, “I do not have a thing for blondes, I have a thing for-”

The man raises an eyebrow, daring him to finish that sentence and Sam shakes his head. “Just tell me your name, Blondie.”

Sam smiles and takes a moment to appreciate the fact it’s not travel season, something he tries to avoid whenever possible, or else they’d never be able to talk like this without someone barking at them to hurry it up.

“Steve Rogers,” the man answers, and smirks before adding, “But I like Blondie just fine.”

Sam places his laptop in a separate bin and watches Steve fish out his own before asking, “We’re flirting, right?”

And something warm and sweet curls through Sam when Steve blushes again.

Sam can tell Steve’s fighting not to look away when he says, “I thought so.”

Sam smirks and leaves it at that for a moment, finishing up the checkpoint by walking through the metal detector and waiting for Steve on the other side.

The two put their shoes back on and gather their bags again. “Lemme see your ticket.” Sam says, and Steve obediently hands it over.

Sam laughs a little, making Steve sidle up to him, peering over his shoulder. “What?”

“I knew we were on the same flight, but we’re right next to each other too. What are the odds?”

Sam hands the ticket back, “Follow me, Blondie.”

* * *

Steve does as told, ducking his head so Sam can’t see the stupid smile on his face. He didn't think he'd be smiling so much during this whole experience, scared stiff and sweating buckets was more expected, but Sam wasn't. Steve doesn't think anyone could predict a man like Sam, a guy who _likes_ to help and is not only funny but easy on the eyes, he's the stuff of dreams in a world so terrible. Well, maybe just Steve's dreams. Which is ridiculous because they are complete strangers in an airport and Steve's life isn't a romcom. There's no way anything lasting can come of this.  

The realization certainly dampens the smile on Steve's face, and when he sees the gate Sam's leading them towards with its wide floor to ceiling windows and a perfect view of the hanger with the metal death traps he paid to board, well, his smile never stood a chance.

Panic and fear settle in Steve's belly, a cold stone of dread that slows his feet. He can't take his focus off of the hangar, at the airplanes, and though he flew a jet into the Atlantic in his dreams, an airplane is close enough.

* * *

It takes a moment for Sam to realize Steve's not behind him. He throws a glance over his shoulder and there's only space there, a few feet between him and Steve, and the guy looks like he's about to shit himself again. His face has gone pale and his hands are too tight around his suitcase.

“Hey, hey,” Sam says, walking back to Steve and blocking his view of the planes in the hangar. Even so, Steve continues to look through him as if he hasn't blocked a thing. Sam holds his shoulders briefly and then moves Steve's chin so he actually looks at him.

For a moment Sam's breath actually hitches at the fear in Steve's blue eyes, that particular concoction of fear and panic he's seen all too often.

“Hey, hey, you're alright, Steve. You're alright. You've got an hour to stare that plane down and tell it who's momma. It was built to get you safely from point A to point B and that's what it's going to do — that's it. You'll walk on the plane intact and you'll walk off the same way.” Sam reasons, watching Steve's eyes calm down as the man takes a deep breath.

He smiles shakily and his shoulders ease when he exhales, “Thank you, Sam.” Steve’s face screws up then and he asks, “Do you have that written down somewhere or did it come off the top of your head?”

Sam laughs and shakes his head, if he thought he was just harmlessly flirting with Steve before, now he’s sure the man is crush material. Anyone who comes out of a panic attack and immediately makes a joke is someone Sam wouldn’t mind getting to know a little more.

Sam smiles, “That was fresh off the dome, Steve, just for you.”

“I’m flattered, but you might want to write it down for later because I’m sure I still have a good five panic attacks left in me.”

Sam winces, _“Five?”_

Steve shrugs, “Okay, three, if you can keep me distracted.”

He watches Steve’s pink lips pull into a smirk, and Sam knows it’s the most endearingly sexy thing he’s witnessed in recent memory. Butterflies spring free to flutter around in his stomach, and heat flares down to settle in his hands, making his fingers tingle.

Sam flexes them, aware of how easily Steve puts him on edge and replies, “I don't think I have any objections to that.” And the two start to walk to their gate again.

Sam walks backwards so Steve can focus on him and not the view of the hangar.

“Do you have any objections to me holding your hand through the whole flight?” Steve jokes, and he’s smiling but Sam can see it’s in part a serious question.

“Absolutely not. In fact, I look forward to it.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes, I think we should practice right now.”

They stop at a group of seats facing away from the windows and sit down. Steve’s looking at Sam like he’s crazy but he kind of likes it.

“You think we should practice holding hands.” He repeats.

“Yes, don't be scared. I might have big hands, but they’re soft — hand lotion every day.” And Sam grins when Steve throws his head back and laughs.

* * *

Steve’s smile is still bright when his laughter dies down, and he looks at Sam’s hand on the armrest. He reaches out to turn it over, and notices almost absentmindedly when Sam falls silent. He lets his thumb run over the grooves of Sam’s palm, the joints of his fingers, the curve of his fingertips. Steve  completely maps out the planes of Sam’s hand before he slides theirs together.

When their fingers entwine the contact is pure relief, solid like an anchor, solid enough Steve knows any panic attack is going to have a hard time shaking its hold.

He meets Sam’s brown eyes and smiles.

“How’s the coffee in Washington?” He asks.

Sam’s eyes narrow, like he doesn’t exactly know what Steve’s getting at but is more than willing to play along, “Never tried it.”

“When you get me through this flight, I think I’ll owe you one.”

Sam smiles, “Oh, is that how it is?”

“That’s how it is.” And Steve smiles right back.


End file.
